


All Through the House

by aibidil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/pseuds/aibidil
Summary: In which Harry and Draco ready the house for Christmas morning.





	All Through the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenTruth813](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/gifts).



Draco lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. He was wearing fuzzy red-and-green plaid pyjamas that Harry had bought him (“because they look prissy but comfortable”) and waiting to hear Harry’s breathing even into the slow, deep pattern that indicated sleep. Draco had developed quite an expertise at listening for the sounds of sleep since he and Harry had taken over care of Teddy half time. 

But Harry wasn’t asleep yet. He was quiet and still, but too quiet and too still to be actually asleep. Draco wanted to reach over, to comfort, but he really needed Harry to fall asleep.

A few days ago, in a frenzy of wrapping, Draco had confronted Harry about his Christmas furor. “Do you think you’ve maybe taken this a bit far?” Draco had asked, pointing at the gift wrap (charmed with bouncing snowpeople and dancing wreathed hippogriffs), the tags, the bows, the ribbons, and the floor—which was covered with a layer of gift detritus. 

Harry had stopped, a pair of charmed scissors still cutting in the air next to his head, a ribbon twirling of its own accord into a giant red bow, and he’d suddenly looked so small. Harry Potter didn’t usually look small. 

Draco had approached him slowly. “Are you okay? Do you want help?”

Harry had started shaking and talking about his childhood memories of Christmas—of being in a small, cold closet, told that he wasn’t good enough to get presents from Santa, told that he wasn’t wanted during the family festivities. 

Draco, who had been with Harry for nearly two years, was still blindsided when another layer of the trauma of Harry’s childhood was revealed. He filled with incandescent rage, wished he could steal a Time Turner and go back, AK Harry’s worthless abusive Muggle relatives, and bring tiny Harry somewhere—the Weasleys, McGonagall, anywhere but there. But Draco couldn’t let his rage out because Harry needed him to calmly listen. Draco _hated_ calmly listening. It was all a bunch of crap, really. He’d made Harry hot cocoa and they’d sat talking on the floor surrounded by scraps of gift wrap and ribbon, and then they’d finished wrapping Teddy’s enormous pile of gifts.

It seemed like Harry was finally asleep, but Draco didn’t want to risk waking him by attempting to leave the bed too quickly, so he kept waiting.

Before they’d retired for the night, they’d cast Finite at the pile of Disillusioned gifts and spread them out under the tree. They’d eaten the cookies left out for Father Christmas, making sure to leave behind a conspicuous number of crumbs. Harry drank the milk Teddy had poured, and Draco drank the brandy he’d left out (“Always leave something nice for Father Christmas, Teddy. He could surely use a nice brandy, all the hard work he’s doing”). Harry bewitched a quill to use different handwriting and scratched out a long note to Teddy, talking about all of the ways that Teddy was a wonderful person and how much he was loved and appreciated, and signed it, “Love, Santa.” Then, exhausted, they’d gone up to bed, expecting an early morning visitor in red-and-green striped pyjamas.

Harry’s breathing was still deep and even. Draco carefully reached to the night table to grab his wand. He cast a non-verbal _Silencio_ at the bed and stepped out, casting two more _Silencios_ at the floor and the door for good measure.

*

Draco awoke to a feeling of claustrophobia—he was being used as a full-body pillow by a five-year-old. He smiled at the way that Teddy’s hair was still an explosion of red and green, his joyful Christmas exuberance manifesting even in his sleep. Outside the window, Draco could make out the beginning of the sunrise and some birds chirping in the snow.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, and Draco turned to look at him. Harry was on his side, facing Draco and Teddy, and his face wore a brilliant smile. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

Draco smiled past the sleeping child. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Isn’t it traditional for the child to wake up the adults?” Harry asked, stretching.

“Most children don’t have such a nice sleeping arrangement,” Draco replied, wincing as Teddy’s foot hit his knee.

Their voices must have roused Teddy, because just then he sat straight up, pushing his little hands on Draco’s chest and pressing his knees painfully into Draco’s hip bones. “‘S Christmas?” he slurred, reaching up one hand to rub his eye.

“Sure is, Teddy Bear,” Harry said, reaching over to rub a hand on Teddy’s back. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas!” Teddy cried, and jumped off the bed. “Come on!”

“Remember, Ted, no gifts until we’ve had our tea,” Draco reminded.

“I know, I know!” he said, running out the door.

Harry laughed, and got out of bed almost as eagerly as Teddy had. He grabbed a jumper that said “THIS WIZARD LOVES CHRISTMAS” and pulled it over his head. Harry turned around, hair mussed from sleep, ridiculous attire, and Draco couldn’t breathe for a moment, overcome with thoughts about how lucky he was.

“Hurry up, or I don’t think we’ll have any hope of getting tea before gifts,” Harry said with a smile.

“Alright, I’m coming.” Draco stood up, stretched, and his dressing gown came zooming out of the closet, stopping in the air right in front of him. (The charmed dressing gown had been a Christmas gift from Harry last year.)

Draco pulled on the dressing gown and followed Harry down the stairs, standing just to the side so he could get a glimpse of Harry’s face.

“Harry! Draco!” Teddy squealed with excitement. “Come quick! Santa came! He came! He really came!”

Harry turned his head around to flash a blinding smile at Draco. Nothing made him happier than making Teddy happy.

“We’re coming, Teddy Bear! We—”

Harry stopped talking when he reached the sitting room. He came to a stop, blocking the doorway.

Draco came up behind him, wrapped his arms around Harry’s middle, and rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

It really was a spectacular sight, Draco thought. He’d outdone himself, really.

The mantle was covered in charmed snow with tiny skiiers darting down miniature hills. The ceiling shone with twinkling lights in a dazzling array. The room was covered in a perpetual snowfall, but the flakes disappeared the moment before they should’ve landed. The tree itself was covered with bubbling lights that Draco had once seen in a vintage Muggle shop, only the magicked version seemed even lovelier. There were icicles hanging from the branches and each of Harry’s ornaments shone under a spotlight. On the bookshelf, a group of tiny carollers sang a calming rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” (Draco’d had to scrap his first attempt at carollers when they insisted on singing “Jingle Bells, Voldemort Smells.”) The gifts were covered with a luminescent layer of glitter, and a small train chugged around the tree with merry puffs of smoke.

“Santa came!” Teddy repeated, dancing around the room.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Draco whispered.

Harry turned to fix Draco with an astonished—joyful—gaze. “I—” he started, but couldn’t seem to find his words.

Draco kissed his neck.

“I never thought I’d get a real Christmas. I thought I would just get to enjoy it through Teddy.”

Draco looked into the room, where Teddy was jumping up and down in front of the train and the mountain of gifts shouting, “Choo! Choo!”

“I’m going to make sure you get it all,” Draco said around a lump in his throat, and the smile Harry gave in return was the only gift Draco needed.


End file.
